by Roan Parrish
Charlie sat on the couch while Jack stoked the fire and gave Puddles a rub.
“I hope you don’t give up,” Charlie said after minutes of silence.
“On Simon? I won’t,” Jack said, a bit hurt that Charlie’d drawn that conclusion from their conversation.
The mildness of Charlie’s voice didn’t mitigate the sting when he said, “Don’t let Simon shut you down without a fight. Not if you want him in your life. Not if you’re willing to work to make a life together. He’s good for you. I hope you fight to be good for him.”
Charlie plucked Pickles off his leg and set her down on the couch, then crossed to stand in front of Jack. The hand on Jack’s shoulder was as familiar as his brother’s intense gaze.
“Fighting sometimes means working your ass off to understand,” he said. “Simon’s been honest with you. Have you done the same?”
Jack blinked. Charlie wasn’t usually so given to speech-making and wisdom-dropping and something told Jack he should appreciate it while he had it.
“No,” he said.
“Then that’s where you start. Figure out what the truth is, then you can bring it to Simon and see where you are.”
Jack looked down and nodded.
“Thanks.”
He let his head tip forward just enough to feel Charlie’s shoulder brush his hair. Charlie squeezed him almost painfully tight and ruffled his hair.
“I like him,” he said.
“Yeah,” Jack said. “Yeah, I like him too.”
Chapter Seventeen
Simon
If you had told Simon Burke when he woke up this morning that he’d end the day with his heart broken, he wouldn’t have been terribly surprised. After all, things with Jack had seemed too good to be true every single day they’d spent together—it was about time, right?
What did surprise Simon was his reaction. He could only remember having it once before, when his grandfather died.
He was utterly numb.
He was sitting in his car in the middle of a clearing in the woods somewhere a twenty-minute drive from Jack’s house, and every part of him was numb except for a hot, tight pain in his throat.
His heart wasn’t racing; it was slugging. His breath wasn’t fast; it was deep. His hands weren’t shaking or twitching; they were lead. In fact he’d pulled over because his entire body felt like it was moving at half-speed.
The only thing he could focus on was the voice in his head, explaining everything very, very clearly.
Jack would get back to his life. Going out with friends, spending time with his brother, and walking the animals himself. He might miss Simon at first, but then he’d be scrubbed from Jack’s life as easily as deleting the PetShare app.
And when Jack’s life went back to the way it had been, so would Simon’s.
No more pack. No more touches. No more conversation. No more Jack.
Just Simon, alone, in his grandmother’s basement.
Simon opened the car door and calmly, numbly, vomited into the rotting leaves.
* * *
Simon wasn’t sure where he’d driven, but he’d sent his grandmother a text telling her not to expect him home that night before curling up in the backseat of his car and falling asleep. He awoke the next morning feeling even more frozen than he’d been the day before, like the cold had crept into his bones while he was unconscious.
He blasted the heat and drove some more. It was dusk when he got home. The porch light was on and his grandmother was cleaning the kitchen when he got inside.
He slumped onto a chair.
One of the best things about his grandmother was that she wouldn’t force him to talk.
“Jack was here,” she said.
“What? When? Why?”
Her raised eyebrow was only half scornful.
“He said you ran away.”
Simon snorted, the phrase conjuring images of himself at eight, misunderstood, tying a jam sandwich into a bandana, and stomping off into the woods.
Then it struck him that he had done almost precisely that—sans sandwich—and he bit his tongue.
“What else did he say?” he asked grudgingly.
Grandma Jean gave the counter a final wipe and gathered an armful of baking supplies to return to the pantry. The cream of tartar next to the oven and the current lack of a plate of cookies on the counter told Simon they’d done more than talk.
“You baked him snickerdoodles!” he accused.
“I did,” she confirmed.
Simon sulked in the chair, but couldn’t quite bring himself to say, He broke my heart and you betrayed me.
“He seemed like he needed them.”
“No one needs cookies,” Simon grumbled.
“No, but sometimes people need someone to do something that shows kindness.”
Simon slumped farther.
“What happened, dear?” his grandmother asked, sitting across from him.
“What did Jack say happened?”
He sounded sulky and childish even to himself.
“He seemed really disappointed you weren’t here,” she said very gently.
Simon shrugged again.
The numbness was back. Of course Jack was disappointed. Jack was kind and wouldn’t want things to be uncomfortable between them. He knew that Simon loved the animals so he would probably tell him he could come walk them sometimes. But then winter would come and the snow and they wouldn’t see each other much. By spring Jack would have forgotten all about him and the next time they ran into each other years from now, at the grocery store or the gas station, the last few months would fade to a hearty hail-fellow-well-met wave of Jack’s strong arm and the nod that Simon would give because he didn’t trust his hand not to shake.
“Did you hear me, dear?” his grandmother asked.
“What?”
“I said you should talk to Jack. Whatever he said that upset you, he clearly cares about you. He wouldn’t want you feeling this way.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because, he...” He shook his head. “It was fine when he needed a dog-walker. When he was stuck in the house. Bored and wanting a distraction. I was better than being by himself. But now... If things were normal for him we would never have met and I’d never have fallen—”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, and mortification washed over him. How could he have thought this was real? How could he have thought that Jack would truly want him once he was healthy again.
“I don’t want—I can’t talk about it,” he choked out.
“You don’t have to talk, but you have to listen to me now. Are you listening?”
He nodded.
“Things can happen to us in the course of our regular routine that change our lives forever. We could be hit by a car crossing the street. Just because something’s routine doesn’t make it safe. Or right. Or best. Things can happen because we deviate from that routine too. It doesn’t matter. What matters is being open and honest about where you are. And where you are is that you’ve met a wonderful man. You care about him. He clearly cares about you.”
Simon blinked hard and avoided looking at her, but she tugged his hand.
“Don’t make the mistake of letting fear convince you that you already know the end of the story. Don’t cheat yourself out of something wonderful because you’re too scared to take a risk.”
“But I’m—”
“No,” she interrupted. “You’re not talking now. You’re listening and then you’re going to bed to think about what you heard.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Jack is very handsome.”
His head jerked up. She had a dreamy look on her face. He nodded.
“He made the cookies. I just told him what to do.”
Simon raised an eyebrow to say, Okay, and?
“He listened. He listened when I told him how to cream the butter and he listened when I told him that he might need to give you a little time to get your head around things.”
Jack always listened. He listened to Simon’s fears and feelings, his ideas and desires. Jack listened.
“Someone who listens—really listens? That’s not someone to throw away, Simon. That’s someone you fight to talk to because when they listen it’s worth it. That’s someone you have to listen to right back. Did you?”
Had Simon? Had he really listened to what Jack was saying, or had he stopped listening to Jack and begun listening to himself?
“Shit.”
“Yes.”
Simon dropped his forehead to the kitchen table.
“Go to sleep, dear. Think about things. But don’t wait too long.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jack
The first night after Simon left had felt long, but Jack had a mission then: to think honestly about what he needed. The second night after Simon left was the longest night of Jack’s life. It didn’t help that he’d eaten approximately a dozen snickerdoodles and couldn’t tell if he was nauseated or hungry for something not made of cinnamon and sugar.
He’d gathered dead limbs from the clearing for kindling, chopped half a cord of wood by porch light, cleaned the kitchen and bathroom until they stank of vinegar, organized his office, and brushed the animals until their coats shone. Well, except for Rat’s. Hers never shone, no matter what.
Every ten minutes he fought the urge to jump in his truck and go back to Simon’s house. But Jean had told him to be patient; that Simon would come to him when he was ready. He believed her, but...he hadn’t thought it would be this hard.
When morning came, Jack paused at every sound, hoping to hear Simon’s car crunching up the drive. But it didn’t come.
He threw on a coat and took the pack for a short and stumbling walk. The walk was short because he was obeying the doctor’s orders to take it easy at first (not to mention it was slow going walking in the cumbersome boot), but the truth was it terrified him that Simon might come to find him when he wasn’t there.
But Simon didn’t come.
It was absurd: eight months of self-imposed exile in his cabin, followed by two months of wishing more than anything he could get out and not being able to. Now finally he was able to leave and he didn’t dare.
He took the pack on another short walk that evening and finally passed out on the couch as the sun set, exhausted enough to sleep through the night.
He woke early, fed the animals, and took them for another short walk. He could tell he was overdoing it. His shin ached and his left calf was starting to complain about him walking half on tiptoes.
This was the thing he’d longed for every time Simon left the house, and now that he had it all he could think was that he wished Simon were with him.
He thought he understood what had happened. Simon had convinced himself this would never work and when Simon convinced himself of things it was very hard to convince him otherwise. And Jack didn’t know how he could. How could you tell someone that the things they had experienced time after time were not true in this instance? He couldn’t.
But maybe he could show him.
When he got home he showered quickly, mind made up.
No more being patient, no more waiting for Simon to struggle through this alone. He might have had to wait for him to come to the house before, but now Jack was going to get him.
Jack dragged his clothes on over still-damp skin, shoved a beanie over his wet hair, and pulled on his boots.
“I’ll be back,” he announced to the pack. “And I’m bringing Simon with me. Hopefully. Fuck, okay, bye.”
Pirate meowed in what Jack chose to take as encouragement and Jack whipped the front door open determinedly, beginning his quest as he intended to go on.
And almost ran smack into someone standing outside his door.
There, on his porch, stood Simon, hand raised to knock, just as he’d been the first moment Jack had seen him.
Only this time, he wasn’t looking down with his shoulders hunched up to his ears. He was looking right at Jack, electric blue eyes burning, with shadows beneath them that spoke of his own sleeplessness.
Relief and desperation warred in his chest and he dragged Simon inside, suddenly worried he might bolt again.
“I was just coming to get you.”
Simon dropped into a crouch to greet the animals who swamped him, scratching ears, kissing heads, and attempting to untangle his scarf from Pickles’ grasp.
“Did your grandma tell you I came by?”
Simon nodded and stood. “You made snickerdoodles.”
“Yeah. Though if I never see another cookie it’ll be too soon. I kinda ate them all.”
They stood facing each other, awkwardly staring. Jack reached out and put his hands on Simon’s shoulders.
“Can we talk?”
Simon bit his lip and nodded. It was clear he knew Jack was actually asking if he could talk now.
Jack wanted to kiss him more than anything. Wanted to twine his fingers into Simon’s soft, messy hair and cradle his skull, and kiss him so he didn’t have to talk. But he simply squeezed Simon’s shoulders.
“I didn’t listen well the other day,” Simon said softly. “I thought you were done with me—that we had to be done. Now that you can do everything by yourself again.”
At Simon’s tone Bernard let out a baleful howl and pressed himself against Simon in a sweet move that would have sent Simon pitching sideways if Jack’s hands hadn’t been on his shoulders. It felt so right to have Simon in his arms, leaning on him, and he pulled Simon against his chest.
“Not a chance, darlin’. Never be done with you.”
Simon let out a whuff of breath that was half sob and half swallowed sound. The arms around Jack’s waist were so tight it was nearly painful. He stroked a hand up and down Simon’s back, relished Simon’s breath against his neck.
“Let’s go talk in the bedroom.”
“Fewer paws and tails,” Simon agreed absently and followed him.
Jack forced himself to swallow any bad tail jokes he might have been tempted to make and gently shooed Puddles and Louis out of the room.
“Can you—” Jack said at the same time as Simon said, “I was—”
“You go,” Jack said. He sat on the bed.
Simon paced. When he spoke, it came out in a sluice.
“I got scared that if things were back to normal for you then what would you need me for? And then winter would come and by spring you’d have forgotten me mostly and maybe the animals would have t-too. And I would miss them so much. And you. Obviously. Of course you. And—and then once I got scared I wasn’t listening to you, but I spent all day yesterday driving and thinking and it’s not just that I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore but like if you did then what if I couldn’t be a b-boyfriend—a good boyfriend—cuz I’m all me-like and then I just wanted to be walking with you and the pack and so. I’m here,” he finished weakly.
Jack plucked out the key words and it was no surprise what they were. Scared, scared, and scared. Scared of losing Jack, scared that Jack wouldn’t want him the way he was, scared to lose the animals. But also want. Simon was scared but he wanted him, this.
“I’m scared too,” he admitted. That got Simon’s attention. “I don’t always know how to help you. How you want me to respond. I feel awful when I know you’re having a hard time and I can’t fix it.”
“You can’t fix it,” Simon said flatly. “It is me.”
Jack cursed his choice of words.
“I shouldn’t have said it like that. I didn’t mean fix you, I meant that I want to be able to make everything better for you. I would want th
at whether you were anxious or you had a headache. I don’t like seeing you suffer.”
“I can stay away when that’s—”
“Christ, am I saying everything wrong or are you in a really negative mood right now?”
Simon glared and Jack remembered that he’d said nearly the same thing to Charlie when Charlie had said he hadn’t liked seeing him suffer over the last eight months.
“Well, did you like seeing me suffer with my leg?” Jack tried.
Simon rolled his eyes.
“Please, that wasn’t suffering, you were just a huge baby about it.”
Jack was about to get annoyed at Simon for the first time when he saw the smile at the corner of Simon’s mouth.
“I’m just being...careful, I guess,” Simon said. “Sorry.”
Jack could hardly fault him for it. He knew all about being careful.
“C’mere.”
Simon stood between Jack’s knees at the edge of the bed and Jack curled hands around his hips.
“I don’t want to steal time with you,” Jack said. “I don’t want this to be some affair that plays out in my house but never sees sunlight. I want this to be real. That’s what I was trying to say yesterday. That was all I was trying to say.”
“Yeah, but when you say real, you mean...in p-public. With p-people. And—and—and I j-just...”
The quiver of Simon’s lip made Jack want to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go, but he’d learned by now that Simon’s stutter just happened and Simon got annoyed if Jack took it as an indication to treat him more gently.
“Yes,” Jack said, stroking Simon’s hair. “If I’m being completely honest. In public like we can go to the grocery store together or take a vacation, yeah. For me, yeah, that’s what I imagine when I imagine being with you. And people? Well, they’d be there, yes, but I’m not under any illusions about how you feel around people. And it’s not like I’m some social butterfly.”
Simon nodded, brow furrowed.
“But I want to be with you, Simon. I don’t want to be with an imaginary Simon who loves making small talk with strangers or singing karaoke in a crowded bar.”